


That Fantasy Football AU

by buckingfucky (Furious_Winter)



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Cannabis, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furious_Winter/pseuds/buckingfucky
Summary: Bucky's enjoying his junior year of college just fine- that is, until his roommate and best friend, Steve, comes out to him one evening. Bucky's a little shocked at the revelation, but he's entirely okay with it as well... or so he thinks, until Steve starts dating guys and Bucky can't make sense of how much it bothers him. He reasons that he must be a homophobe. After all, that's the only plausible answer... right?Loosely based on the "straight" Reddit poster's tale of how he came to realize he'd fallen in love with his gay roommate, I originally anticipated this to be around 10k and it just keeps growing, so I'll be posting it in chapters instead of as a one-shot. I hope you enjoy it!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GhostCwtch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostCwtch/gifts).



> This is for the wonderful StarkPanda. She chose to make art for my fic in the 2016 Stucky Big Bang, but I had to drop out early on due to some life shit. I'm so sorry, and I hope this fic (once I finally finish it) makes up for backing out. <3
> 
> Also, when I first began to plan this fic a few months ago, I learned that Calvin "Megatron" Johnson would not be returning to the NFL this season. Since this fic takes place in no particular year, I took the liberty of including him as I bid a tearful goodbye to one of my very favorite NFL players.

Bucky kept watch on Steve out of the corner of his eye as his roommate gloomily checked the fantasy football app on his phone for the dozenth time in the past five minutes. Grinning to himself as the final two minutes of the last Sunday night game began to tick away, he tried to sound sincere as he offered, “You know, there’s still Monday night’s game. I mean, if your kicker can make… ten, twelve field goals, you’ve still got a chance.”

“I hate you.” Steve seethed. 

Bucky corrected him, “You hate Joe Flacco.”

“Him too.” He sighed and dropped his phone on his lap as he reached for his beer. “Of all the weeks I could’ve played you, it _had_ to be on the Patriots’ bye week.” 

While Bucky did feel a bit guilty for getting an easy win on his friend, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel too badly about it. He flashed Steve a winning smile. “You know what they say, ‘The cream always rises to the top.’”

Steve’s voice fell flat. “We’re tied now.”

“But I’ve got you out-pointed.” Bucky winked at him. 

After taking a spiteful drink of his beer, Steve put on his metaphorical smack-talk hat. “Yeah, but I’m gonna fuck your face in playoffs.”

“You’re gonna need more than Brady and Gronk to do that.” Bucky took a smug sip of his own drink as the game finally came to a close. “Megatron is killing it for me. He’s been putting up more points than both my running backs.” 

Steve scoffed at that. “Calvin Johnson can suck my dick.” 

“You know how I know you’re gay?” Bucky joked, “You’re always talking about fucking dudes’ faces. And I think you’ve got a thing for Calvin Johnson…”

As a Doritos commercial played on the television, Steve shifted uncomfortably on the couch and took a large swig before saying, “Well. I _am_ gay.”

Bucky gave a nervous laugh. Steve wasn’t playing along like he was supposed to. He was meant to counter with, ‘You know how I know _you’re_ gay?’ “Right.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Tell that to Sharon.”

“We broke up.” Steve said shortly. 

“You… are you serious?” While Steve often talked about ending it with her, Bucky never thought he’d actually go through with it.

Steve nodded, his lips pursed. 

“What happened?” Bucky asked, confused. 

“I mean…” Steve sighed again, “I’m gay, Bucky.”

The information was not processing; or perhaps, Bucky didn’t want it to process. “You didn’t know how else to break up with her, so you told her you’re gay?”

“No,” Steve shook his head, “I’m actually gay.” 

Bucky focused his gaze on Steve. “Like… _gay_ gay?”

Steve looked him in the eyes and said matter-of-factly, “Yeah. I like guys.”

Taking a moment to ponder this, Bucky turned his attention back to the television. Absent-mindedly, he reached for the remote and muted it. With a deliberately heartbroken tone, he opined, “So you really _do_ like Calvin Johnson.” _If nothing else,_ he reasoned, _humor might make things less awkward._

Steve’s chuckle softened Bucky’s spirits. “I mean, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.” 

Bucky snorted. “It’d be hard for _anyone_ to kick him out of bed. He’s what, 6’5? Two hundred and change?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Steve laughed heartily, but his cheer dissipated as he became more serious. “I just… I just hope it doesn’t change anything between us.” Now, he looked at Bucky with a sad sort of expression. 

Not yet ready to be serious about it, Bucky tried to keep it light-hearted. “What, that you want Megatron to fumble with your balls?”

“No…” Steve shook his head again with a pained look on his delicate features. “That I’m gay. I don’t want things to be weird. I mean, you’re friends with Jean-Paul and Bobby Drake, so I figured that-”

“Nah, man. It’s fine.” Cutting him off, Bucky tried to blink himself back to reality. His roommate, hell, his _best friend_ in a matter of three months, hadn’t just come out to him. He hit Steve with a playful fist on his shoulder. “I don’t care who you fuck.” Surely, Steve was just messing with him. 

The pained expression on Steve’s face said otherwise and he looked as if he was about to say something pertinent, but shook his head instead. “Yeah. Whatever.” He picked his phone back up and grimaced. “Dammit, you’re gonna win. You’re beating me by nearly forty points.”

“I just got lucky.” Oddly, Bucky wasn’t ready to change the subject. “When did you know?”

With a huff, Steve threw his phone into his lap again. “When Adrian Peterson got that second touchdown.”

Bucky cut to the chase. “No, I mean, when did you know that you’re gay?”

Steve sat back, looking thoughtful for a moment before draining the rest of his beer. “I guess a part of me has always known. I just wasn’t sure until recently.”

 _Until recently,_ Bucky repeated Steve’s words in his head. If someone like _Steve_ could be gay, someone Bucky never suspected, someone strong and confident in himself, someone that tons of girls would fall for, someone smart and honest and funny… And it wasn’t that gay people couldn’t be any of that. No, it was that _Steve_ was gay. And if Steve was gay, _anyone_ could be gay. _I’m too drunk for this,_ Bucky thought as he finished off his beer.

He shot a smirk at Steve. “So do you think I’m cute?”

Steve groaned. “That’s a loaded question.”

“‘Loaded,’ as in…” Bucky trailed off in a mischievous grin. 

Frowning, Steve appealed to logic. “If I say yes, I think you’re cute, things will be awkward. But if I say no, you’ll get offended.”

Bucky scooted over towards Steve, adopting his sexy voice. “So you _do_ think I’m cute?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“No.” Steve shimmied away. “I think you’re an asshole.”

“But you _like_ assholes,” Bucky wagged his eyebrows as he leaned himself into Steve’s side. 

“I’m going to bed.” Steve stood up, grabbing a beer and heading to his room. “I’ve got a test in the morning.”

“Steve,” Bucky started to reach out for his arm but stopped himself. “Sorry. I’m just kidding around.” When Steve hesitated, Bucky took half a moment to collect himself. “If you’re really gay, I promise I don’t mind. It’s fine. We’re cool.”

Already at his doorway, Steve’s shoulders lifted and dropped with a deep breath. “Okay,” he said without turning to face him. And then almost sarcastically, _“Thanks.”_ He opened the door to his room and slammed it behind him.

 

***

Munching on Doritos, Bucky giggled as he watched a Friends rerun. With the notes he was supposed to be studying pushed to the side, forlorn, he reached past them for his phone at a commercial break. _Nearly ten o’clock,_ his inner voice announced to its captive audience as he wondered where Steve was. He briefly considered sending him a text as it was unusual for his roommate to stay out this late on a Wednesday night, but thought the better of it. Most likely, Steve had something to do and had simply neglected to tell him. 

The commercial break finished and Bucky settled back into the couch, gorging on a handful of Doritos while appreciating Jennifer Aniston’s beautiful smile. It nearly startled him when the door to their dorm room opened and Steve stepped inside, laughing, and talking to a young man that followed in behind him. Bucky raised his eyebrows, somewhat surprised. 

“Oh, hey Bucky.” Steve waved at him with a sheepish grin. “This is, uh…” Steve turned to the guy as if looking for some kind of direction. “This is my friend, Frank.” Looking back to Bucky now, Steve appeared to be nervous of his reaction. 

_Shit,_ Bucky realized, _this is… this is his boyfriend. Or something._ The idea left a strange feeling in his chest. In the week and a half that had passed since Steve came out to him, they hadn’t outright discussed it. A bit of flirting here and there as Bucky pestered Steve about whether or not he found him attractive was the closest they’d come to the topic, and Bucky was pretty sure Steve thought he was, at the least, cute- but he wanted to hear him say it. 

“Hey,” the Frank fellow approached him and offered a hand, “I’m Frank. Nice to meet you.”

 _Frank,_ Bucky scoffed internally, _what a fucking stupid name. That’s almost as bad as Fred._ Putting on his game face, Bucky smiled and shook his hand with a firm grip. “James,” he replied. 

“James?” Frank’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I thought Steve said your name was Bucky.” 

“Yeah,” he answered saltily, “that’s what my friends call me.”

“Cool.” Frank grinned, and Bucky wanted to wipe the smile off dumbass Frank's face with his fist. 

“Right, well,” Steve laughed uncomfortably as he walked up behind Frank and put a hand on his arm, pulling him away, “we’re just gonna go chill in my room.” 

Bucky nodded with a pained smile as the two of them disappeared behind Steve’s door. He didn’t miss the sound of the lock clicking into place. _What does Steve even see in that guy?_ While Frank was definitely attractive, for a guy at least, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder, _why him?_ The Friends episode was now over, and he began to channel surf, trying not to listen to what was happening behind Steve’s closed door. 

_Was that laughter? Did Steve laugh?_ Bucky turned the tv down a bit just to be sure. _Yup. Definitely laughter._ He groaned, imagining what kind of dumbass thing dumbass Frank must’ve said or done to make Steve laugh like that; his genuine laugh, the kind of laugh he’d make when Bucky said something witty. And suddenly, he didn’t care to watch tv anymore. Turning it off, he picked up his notebook and went to his room. _Study time,_ he told himself. 

Bucky laid back on his bed, looking over his notes and reading every word but comprehending none of it. He had no reason to be bothered by Steve bringing home a guy, but it bothered him. Try as he might, he just couldn’t imagine Steve kissing another dude. It just didn’t _feel_ right and he couldn’t figure out why. Bucky had plenty of gay and lesbian friends and they didn’t bother him at all. He wasn’t a homophobe. _Or am I?_ He allowed the question to fester. _Oh my God, I’m a homophobe._

Everything fell into place. Bucky had no problem with gay people as long as they weren’t his best friend, or living in the same space as he, or… _Laughing at some asshole’s stupid jokes._ Tossing his notes to the floor, Bucky rolled over onto his side and tugged at the chain of the lamp on his nightstand. While it irked him that he was a homophobe, he felt some kind of solace in identifying the problem. _I’m a shitty friend. And I need to fix that._ Steve deserved no less than the best from Bucky, and as he drifted off to sleep, he felt determined to make Steve feel loved in the way he deserved. 

***

The next morning, Bucky made the conscious decision not to make things awkward. “Sup?” He waved kindly to Steve as he nonchalantly-but-quickly entered the room and moved to the refrigerator. 

Steve stirred at his Wheaties. “Morning,” he replied with a weak smile. 

“How was your night?” Bucky asked, not really wanting to know but still wishing to be supportive and accepting. 

“It was alright.” Steve’s disappointed tone made him happy, and he chastised himself for it. 

“So…” Finally settling on orange juice for his morning beverage, Bucky turned to the cupboard and reached for a tall glass. “Fred.” He cleared his throat, the mistake not being a mistake. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Frank.” Steve corrected him. “And no, we just fooled around.”

The mental image of Steve “fooling around” with Frank turned his stomach, and he only filled his glass half-way. He took a slow, careful drink before steeling himself and turning around to look at Steve directly. He tried not to sound hopeful, “Things didn’t go as planned?”

“Hah.” Steve’s blue eyes sparkled back at him. “You could say that.”

“What happened?” _You fucking idiot,_ he couldn’t believe he’d actually asked that question. He didn’t really want to know.

“He wanted to…” his voice trailed off. “I mean, it was fun, but…”

Bucky forced himself to tease. “Couldn’t get it up?” 

The look of humored hatred on Steve’s face made Bucky chuckle. “It wasn’t that. I just wasn’t ready, I guess.” 

“Ah.” Feeling better for whatever reason, Bucky made his way to the table and pulled out a chair, plopping down in it with feigned swagger. “Steve, the blushing gay virgin.”

“Fuck off.” Steve smiled through his scowl. 

Bucky kept on, condescending, “You know, if you don’t put out soon he might not take you to prom.”

Steve glared at him, and it gave Bucky life. “I wouldn’t go to a prom with a douchebag like him.”

“No?” He continued to play, “I mean, if _he’s_ your type, then-”

“He’s not my type.” Steve sharply cut him off. 

“You’re not a fan of husky, smoky voices? Tanned skin? Brown eyes? Crew cuts?” Bucky could’ve gone on about Frank’s muscular build, his jeans that were far too tight and the muscle shirt with the same problem, but he found himself somewhat bothered by the detail in which he remembered Fred. _Frank,_ his brain slapped his wrist. 

Steve looked almost as if he pitied Bucky. “I dunno. I don’t think I have a type.” 

“Oh, come on.” Bucky egged him on. _“Everyone_ has a type.”

A bit of pink crept onto Steve’s cheeks, and he shook his head. “Let’s talk about something else. Are you gonna veto Natasha and Clint’s trade or not? Because I know he really needs a decent running back, but she’s totally taking advantage of him and-”

“Twinks?” Bucky ignored the question.

Steve blinked, unamused. 

“Bears?”

With a sigh, Steve turned his attention back to his Wheaties. 

“Look, I’m running out of options here.” Bucky chuckled, his knowledge of gay slang terms reaching its limits. “Daddies?”

“Buck…” Steve seemed genuinely annoyed.

“...Do you want to _be_ a daddy?” he gently prodded.

Again, Steve didn’t answer, and instead resumed eating his cereal. 

Watching him for a moment, Bucky wrestled with asking his next question or not. He took a silent, deep breath. “Am _I_ your type?”

Steve rolled his eyes as if the answer should be obvious. “You’re a jerk.” 

“So you like jerks.” He said teasingly. 

“Get over yourself, Bucky.” Steve scowled as he got up and crossed to the sink, noisily dropping his unfinished Wheaties into the basin. “I’ve got to go to class.” 

“You shouldn’t frown.” He couldn’t help himself. “It makes you look older. Like, twenty-five. That’s, what, forty in gay years?”

Steve grabbed his backpack from the hook by the door, hastily exiting, and Bucky was left sitting alone at the table, grinning at his glass of orange juice. _One way or another,_ he knew, _I’m gonna get you to admit that you think I’m cute._

***

As the last midday game was finishing up, Bucky cracked open his first beer while he waited for Steve to come home for their ritual Sunday night football hangout. He’d been on edge all day as it was the first week of playoffs, and while Steve and Sam, in first and second respectively, were enjoying a bye week before semifinals, Bucky’s team was up against Clint’s. Thankfully, Clint’s team had vastly underperformed and at this point there was little chance for him to make a comeback. This, to Bucky, was the best and worst position to be in- being able to watch a game knowing that you’ve probably got a win in the bag. Still, there was that nagging voice of worry in the back of his mind that some third-line wide receiver on the opposing team would randomly blow it out of the water for no good goddamn reason. _It won’t happen,_ he told himself as he texted Natasha, who was up against Bruce. 

_Bucky: You know you’re gonna lose, right?_

_Nat: I’ll be winning the league again this year, thanks._

_Bucky: Bruce is spanking you._

_Nat: Half of my team is yet to play. We’ll see who’s doing the spanking tomorrow night._

_Bucky: Doesn’t matter. If you even make it to the championship it’ll be ME spanking you._

_Natasha: I hope Calvin Johnson literally breaks a leg tonight._

_Bucky: You scared?_

_Natasha: Never, but he’s the only reason you even made playoffs. ;) Fucking Megatron._

While he wanted to argue with that, he was interrupted by Steve coming in the front door… followed by a guy. A new guy. Different guy. Also, not the same guy as previous-guy. Nice-looking guy. Clean cut. Well-dressed. Strikingly handsome. Immediately respectable. Instantly deplorable. 

“Wassup?” Steve greeted cheerfully. 

Bucky failed to share his enthusiasm. Regardless of who this new person was to Steve, Bucky would’ve at least appreciated a heads-up that someone new was coming over. Football night was _their_ time, Steve-and-Bucky time. Sure, Steve was on bye and wasn’t playing anybody, but this was definitely an infringement upon their unspoken bro-code. He answered Steve with a raised eyebrow, looking skeptically at this new person. 

“Oh. Okay.” Steve appeared to be genuinely surprised by Bucky’s lack of a response. “This is Kyle.” He then spoke as if what followed was almost an apology. “I figured you wouldn’t mind if he came over to watch the game with us.” 

Bucky certainly minded. “Yeah, it’s cool,” he lied. “There’s plenty of beer.” He forced himself to swallow his disdain. “Hey, Kyle. I’m Bucky.” He stood up and extended a hand. 

Kyle took his hand, his grasp solid and confident. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Steve talks about you all the time.” 

Bucky didn’t believe him. “I bet.” He motioned to the couch and invited Kyle to sit down. “Have a seat, grab a beer.” Robotically, he pointed to the table; tortilla chips and homemade, kosher, organic buffalo chicken dip- a family recipe- sitting upon it. “There’s tortilla chips and homemade, kosher, organic buffalo chicken dip if you want some. It’s a family recipe.” 

Kyle nodded appreciatively, his smile warm and friendly. “Thanks!” He then grabbed what Bucky felt was an undeserved chip, despite him having just offered Kyle precisely that, and with it scooped up a large amount of Bucky’s homemade, kosher, organic buffalo chicken dip. Kyle brought it to his lips, and the event of him eating it seemed to play out in slow motion. Bucky watched as he chewed and Kyle’s eyes grew wide, nodding in approval as he finally swallowed and said, “Dude, that’s really good!”

Bucky wanted to deck him.

They all settled into the couch, Bucky on the right and Steve in the middle, chit-chatting about this and that while they waited for the game to start. Bucky felt determined to like Kyle despite his reservations about him. If he was good enough for Steve, then he was good enough for football night… even if he did feel a bit betrayed by Kyle’s unexpected presence. 

Kyle turned out to be generous, good-natured, and likeable. After twenty minutes, Bucky couldn’t stand him. 

“So how does fantasy football work again?” Kyle curiously asked Steve.

“Basically,” Steve explained, “you’re in a group with other people, and that’s your league. At the beginning of the football season, you draft players to your fantasy team and they earn you points based on how well they do in their games. You’re put in head-to-head match-ups against other teams in your league each week, and the last two or three weeks of the regular football season determine the winner.”

“Oh, okay.” Kyle seemed to understand. “So you don’t pick, like, an entire team. You kind of choose who you want, then they score and it helps you?”

Bucky intervened. “Sort of. Like, any of your players can earn you points for a touchdown, but take running backs for example. Their main objective is to move the ball forward, and you’ll get points based on yardage gained. Defensive players earn you points for tackles, sacks, interceptions and other stuff. But yeah, most of your points come from your offensive players that make big plays, get lots of yardage and make touchdowns.” Having spoken more words to Kyle than he ever thought possible, Bucky felt proud of himself. 

Kyle nodded. “That’s interesting. I’d heard about fantasy sports before, but I never really understood how it worked.”

Bucky asked, “Do you ever watch football?”

“No.” Kyle admitted with a pretty grin. “I mean, I understand the mechanics, but I was a swimmer in high school. Never really payed attention to any other sports.”

“And that’s fine!” Steve became excited. “You could play with us next year! You don’t need to know everything about football in order to play _fantasy_ football. We’re set up through Yahoo, and they give you projections on how many points a player is likely to put up each game, and…”

Bucky felt personally attacked. 

It was one thing for Steve to bring home an uninvited guest, even one as seemingly harmless as Kyle, but now Steve was crossing the line. How dare he invite Mr. Perfect Kyle with his nice shoes, tight khakis and a black polo shirt that betrayed his lean swimmer’s build, a soothing voice, dark brown hair that he kept pushing to the side when it fell across his baby blue eyes-

“Bucky?” Steve asked.

“Huh?” Realizing that he’d been staring at Kyle, _hard,_ he snapped out of his daze. “What?”

Steve sounded deceptively earnest. “Do you think Kyle could play with us next year?” 

_No,_ Bucky wanted to say, but he really couldn’t think of a good reason. Except, “Sure, as long as we can find someone else to keep the number of teams even.”

Steve smiled, and resumed talking to Kyle about how the game worked. Bucky seethed. He wondered, _Does he really think they’re still gonna be together then? Are they even together or just talking? What if things don’t work out? The new season won’t start until next fall anyway, why is he asking now?_

Kyle spoke to both of them, “So who are you rooting for tonight?”

“No one, really.” Bucky answered diplomatically. “But I hope the Lions do well, because I’ve got their best wide receiver.”

“Oh?” Kyle pointed to the television where the commentators were discussing the upcoming game. “Is that him?”

“Calvin Johnson, yeah.” Steve nodded at the screen where his picture was displayed in the background along with his stats. “They call him Megatron.”

Kyle seamlessly rested a hand on Steve’s leg as he asked, “Why is that?” 

“He’s huge, and he’s got big hands.” Steve appeared unbothered by Kyle’s implicit gesture of familiarity, and Steve being unbothered bothered Bucky for some reason he couldn’t quite delineate.

The game started, and Bucky stayed silent for most of it. As much as he tried to focus on the game, he kept discreetly eyeing the other two as they’d talk here and there, Kyle asking questions about the game and Steve providing lengthy answers in far too much detail. Towards the end of half-time, Bucky excused himself to go to the restroom and upon returning noticed that Kyle now had his arm around Steve. Steve, to his distressing credit, seemed comfortable enough and even leaned into the casual embrace.

Bucky settled back into the couch as the game resumed, and continued noticing little things about Steve and Kyle. Their knees were touching. With his arm still around Steve, Kyle would lightly trace his fingers along Steve’s arms from time to time. And, _oh my God,_ Bucky realized, _they’re holding hands._

_Yes,_ he affirmed with a careful, quick glance, _they’re definitely holding hands._ He found himself wondering how long they’d been “talking,” or whatever it was called when two people weren’t yet officially dating. He again wondered, _Are they_ really dating? He felt compelled to ask, but stopped himself. Calvin Johnson scored a touchdown, and it meant that even if the Lions benched him for the rest of the game to ensure he wouldn’t get injured, he’d already put up enough points to thoroughly cement his win against Clint. 

Steve nearly jumped off the couch with the slightly inebriated “WHOO!” he’d bellow whenever one of his own players scored. He raised a hand to Bucky for a high-five. “That pretty much does it for Clint. Welcome to the semifinals, man!” Bucky returned the obligatory high five with a grimace, and Steve noticed. “You alright?” he asked, his brow gently furrowed. 

“Think I’m getting a headache.” He made an attempt at composing himself, setting his beer to the side and leaning forward, staring at the game clock and wishing it would just run out already. 

“You want some Tylenol?” Steve asked. 

“Nah, I’m good.” Bucky smiled weakly at him as he declined the offer. “I’ll take something before I go to sleep.”

Bucky remained that way for the rest of the game- leaned forward, staring directly ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Steve looking over at him from time to time as if sensing that something was wrong, concerned. _But nothing’s wrong,_ Bucky told himself. _I’m just a homophobe, I guess. But this is progress, right?_ He’d managed to not be a total dick to Kyle, at least. 

As the game wrapped and the commentators began to discuss it in depth, Steve and Kyle stood. “Well, we’re gonna go hang out in my room.”

Ice and fire coursed through his veins, and he nodded back. “Night,” Bucky said shortly, keeping his eyes on the television.

“You have a final in the morning, right?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, “nine o’clock.” 

“Alright, well, see you in the morning.” 

The silence that followed probably should’ve bothered Bucky, but as Steve and Kyle stood there awaiting a “see ya,” he felt only melancholy. They finally went into Steve’s room, and Bucky tried to enjoy the post-game. He listened intently, but not to the players being interviewed. A faint moan didn’t leave him waiting long, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to imagine the things Kyle was doing to Steve, or was going to do to Steve; and he tried not to visualize Kyle taking Steve’s shirt off, running his hands along his chest or the way Steve might react to his touch. 

He felt sick, and so he turned off the television and crossed to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water before heading to his room, and then grabbing some ibuprofen from his nightstand. He took two, washed them down with half the bottle, and curled into his bed, facing away from the door. Things weren’t right, and Bucky couldn’t even begin to explain how. He lay there for what felt like hours, finally drifing to sleep as he forcefully busied his brain with thoughts about who he should put in his line-up for the semifinals.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky awakened before his alarm had a chance. As he sat up up, the previous night’s events played fresh on his mind. Still, he felt better about it somehow. Today was a new day and at least he’d have a chance to apologize to Steve before leaving for his first final. He put on a friendly smile, opened his door and stepped out- only to find Kyle seated at the table. Bucky blinked at him, and then looked over to Steve who was standing at the oven. 

“Morning!” Steve must’ve heard him open his door and turned his head, grinning. “Want some bacon and eggs?”

“No, uh,” he tried not to panic. _Kyle spent the night. With Steve. All night. They literally slept together. In Steve’s bed. In our dorm room. Together._ He needed to leave. “I’m just gonna go on and head out.”

“Seriously?” Steve frowned at Bucky as he walked to the door and grabbed his backpack. “It’s not even eight o’clock. You’ve got over an hour before-”

“I’m meeting someone for a bit of last-minute studying,” he lied as he slid his bare feet into his flip flops despite the likelihood that it was quite chilly outside. 

“Oh. Okay.” Steve nodded, a look of disappointment testing his features.

“See ya.” Bucky nodded back to Steve and then forced himself to look at Kyle, still seated at the table, who seemed troubled. Bucky nodded to him as well, and then fled out the door. 

He probably looked a mess. He hadn’t showered, hadn’t brushed his teeth, was still in his sleeping pants and an old, oversized t-shirt. _I didn’t even put on deodorant,_ he realized as he exited the building to head off for the classroom. 

Bucky was surprised to find that he wasn’t the first student to arrive in the room. Wanda Maximoff sat in a desk near the front, hunched over her notebook. Having not spoken to her at all the entire semester, he figured it best not to start now. She threw a quick smile at him over her shoulder and he waved back cordially. He knew little else about her except that she was quite young, sixteen or so, and a foreign exchange student. She was also incredibly smart, and not just for her age. 

Bucky pulled his notebook from his pack and discreetly smelled at his right pit as he did so. He could feel himself sweating, and hopefully wouldn’t stink badly enough for anyone around him to notice. Doing his best to actually study and not think about the atrocity he’d just witnessed in his own dorm room, his best turned out to not be good enough and instead of studying he began to think about the atrocity he’d just witnessed in his own dorm room. 

Steve had been making Kyle breakfast, and the evidence was damning. Taking someone out to dinner and then sleeping with them was one thing, but waking up the morning after and cooking food for them...? Whatever they’d done, Steve must have enjoyed it, and Kyle must have as well. _Fucking breakfast._ Obviously, their relationship was headed in a more homely direction than whatever it was Bucky had expected of it. He fumed in his seat, taking little notice as other students began to enter, and in a kind of daze he was suddenly taking his exam. 

Thankfully, he was able to concentrate. His brain slipped into test-mode as he read each question thoroughly before easily marking the correct answer - a wonderful benefit of studying. After nearly two hours, he finished and handed his exam to his professor who hardly seemed to acknowledge him. Bucky didn’t mind, as Dr. Stark was kind of an asshole anyway. 

With the exam proving to be somewhat cathartic, he journeyed back to his dorm in a better mood than the one in which he’d left it. And when he pushed open the door, he found Steve seated on the couch, his laptop before him. 

“Sup?” Bucky asked as he hung his pack by the door and stepped out of his flip flops. 

“Hey, man.” Steve set his Mac to the side and leaned forward. “How’d your exam go?”

Walking to the couch and plopping down on it, Bucky gave a relieved sigh. “I’m pretty sure I passed, but you know how that line of thinking goes. You?”

“I think I did alright.” Steve gave him a satisfied smile. “Now I’m just finishing up this paper, and I’m done until Wednesday.”

“Good.” Bucky smiled back and wondered if this interaction would be enough to convince Steve that absolutely nothing was wrong. 

“Is something wrong, Bucky?” Steve asked. 

_Dammit._ Bucky coolly cocked his head. “How do you mean?”

“It’s just the way you were acting last night... and this morning.” He could tell that Steve was genuinely concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky reassured him, “but I’m hungry.” He got up and walked to the fridge, opening the door in search of leftover Thai food. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” he joked, “I’m sure I’m hungry.”

Steve’s voice became stern. “You know what I mean, Bucky.” 

Unable to find the leftover takeout, he instead grabbed the half empty jug of milk to make a bowl of cereal. “I know.” He admitted, and became serious as he reached for the Cinnamon Toast Crunch atop the refrigerator. “And I’m good. Everything’s cool.” 

“You’re not jealous?”

Bucky nearly dropped the cereal carton. _Jealous???_ “Why would I be jealous?”

“Jealous of me.”

It took nearly all of his willpower to competently pour the cereal into the bowl. He still didn’t know precisely what it was about Steve dating guys that bothered him, but he certainly wasn’t jealous. Homophobia still appeared to be the most logical conclusion. “Why would I be jealous of you?” he asked, feeling they were taking conversational baby steps along the way to nowhere. 

Steve seemed pained by having to spell it out for him. “I don’t know. Because I’m getting laid and you’re not?” 

_They did it._ His suspicions confirmed, his heart sank to his stomach and Bucky didn’t feel like having cereal anymore. He turned around, leaned against the counter and looked his best friend in the eyes. “That’s not it, Steve.”

“Then what’s the matter?” Steve seemed worried, and was losing his patience. 

“I don’t know.” Bucky answered honestly. “I guess it’s just that since Sam’s coming over next Sunday and then we’re going home for winter break, last night was our last ‘us’ night, you know?”

_“Us_ night?” Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” Bucky swallowed. “Football night is our night. Bro time. And it’s not like you need to ask permission to bring someone over, but a warning would’ve been nice.” He immediately regretted his choice of words. “Or not a warning, but,” he gave a sigh, “maybe a heads-up.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve said immediately. He stared at his computer, thoughtful. “I should’ve let you know he was coming.” He began to grin, “I didn’t know our football nights were that important to you.”

“Of course they’re important to me.” Bucky said earnestly as he returned his attention to his food. “It’s my favorite part of the week.”

Steve laughed. “Mine too. Glad to hear the feeling is mutual.”

Bucky returned the milk carton the fridge and then picked up his bowl of cereal. “You know it.” He gave a reassuring smile as he headed for the table. “I love you, man.”

The color drained from Steve’s cheeks as his grin dissipated. “Yeah, I love you too.” He cleared his throat, hesitated for a moment, and then abruptly picked up his laptop and headed for the door. “Well, I’ve got to go to the library. I’ll see you later.”

Munching on his late breakfast, confused, Bucky waved at him with a mouthful. He swallowed, and just before Steve shut the door behind him, he called out, “See ya.”

***

Sam, sitting between Steve and Bucky, warned as the third quarter drew to a close, “You know, there are rumors that Calvin Johnson is retiring after this season.”

Bucky waved it off. “Those rumors make the rounds every year.”

“Just saying,” Sam raised his hands in surrender, “your homeboy might not be around next fall to save your sorry ass.”

Flipping through the scores on his phone, Bucky grimaced. He was playing Steve this week, and it was looking like Megatron wasn’t going to save Bucky’s sorry ass this time around. Most of Steve’s team had fucking killed it for him and while Bucky’s team was still either meeting or exceeding their projections, it didn’t look to be enough. “Nat’s beating you.” He bitterly changed the subject. 

Sam scoffed, “Don’t tell me you’re rooting for her.” 

“Hell, no.” Steve intervened as half-time ended and the game resumed. “We’re _both_ rooting for you, Sam. She doesn’t need to win again this year.”

“Right?” Sam agreed. “And she’s been talking shit all season only to slide into playoffs because she out-pointed Bruce. She _can’t_ win two years in a row.” He popped open a fresh beer. “It’s just not supposed to work that way.”

The winner of each of the two games this evening, Sam vs. Nat and Steve vs. Bucky, would advance to the championship while the losers would go on to fight for the bronze. Bucky placated Sam, “Don’t worry. If you lose, Steve will kick her ass.” 

“Hey,” Steve teased, “you could still come back. If your kicker gets ten, twelve field goals in the last half-”

_“Shut up,_ Steve.” Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes. Steve’s prophecy about fucking Bucky’s face in playoffs was proving to be true. “You’re only winning because of Brady, so you can go fuck yourself, thank you very much.”

“Sorry,” he laughed, “that’s Kyle’s job.”

The combination of Steve’s words and his ability to laugh at them shot a pang through Bucky’s body. 

“How are things going with him, anyway?” Sam asked. 

Steve grinned and looked down to his lap, nodding lightly. “Pretty good, pretty good. I would’ve invited him over tonight, but he already went home for the holidays.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Sam frowned. “He’s a great guy. It’s always a blast when you two come over.”

This was new information to Bucky. He wasn’t aware that Sam had even _met_ Kyle, though it made sense; Sam and Steve had been friends since high school. _They’ve been hanging out over at Sam’s?_ It’s not like Bucky policed Steve’s personal life - seriously, he didn’t - and Bucky and Sam weren’t that close anyway, but he found himself miffed that he hadn’t ever received an obligatory invitation, not even once. 

Steve turned slightly pink. “Yeah, he’s really awesome.” He took a swig of his beer, and as he set it down his smile seemed to fade. “Kyle’s just about everything I could ever want in a guy.”

Bucky assumed that Steve’s abrupt solemnity drew from the sincerity of his last statement. Apparently, Kyle was the perfect fit for Steve. Bucky’s stomach clenched for no obvious reason, and he tried to focus on the game.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat and he turned to Steve. “So, okay, I know this is one of those questions gay guys hate, but…”

The look of dread on Steve’s face almost made Bucky curious of the question. _Almost,_ he thought. 

“Are you…” Sam broke into a nervous laugh. “Do you pitch or do you catch?”

Steve groaned and looked away. “Oh my _God,_ Sam.”

“What?!” Sam blurted, shocked. “Don’t tell me…”

With a dismissive shake of his head, Steve informed him, “It’s none of your business.”

“You’re a bottom.” Sam appeared awed. 

Steve became agitated. “You say that like it’s something to be ashamed of.”

“It’s not!” Sam broke into a taunting grin. “I just... didn’t picture you as a big ol’ flamin’ nancy bottom is all.”

Bucky hadn’t pictured it either - until now. 

Sam continued, “Sucking dick is one thing. That’s gotta be mutual. And I mean, we’ve all experimented, right Bucky?” He gave Bucky a light slap on the shoulder. 

Bucky wanted to punch him in return, but finding some way to restrain himself, he replied, “Nope. Not me.” He took a drink. 

“Really?” Sam asked, perplexed.

“Never.”

Sam looked him dead in the eyes. “Well, how do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never done anything with another guy?”

“Because I’ve never _wanted_ to do anything with another guy,” Bucky answered forcefully. He could feel himself gripping the bottle in his hand and couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so pissed off. 

“You don’t know, you might enjoy it.” Sam looked to Steve for confirmation, “I mean, I’m not gay or bi or anything, but there’s nothing wrong with-”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it, and there’s nothing wrong with _not_ doing it either, okay? I don’t need to suck a dick in order to know that I’m straight, just like I don’t need to drive a Maserati to know that Aston Martin is better.” The argument made sense to Bucky.

Sam was nearly impressed. “...You’ve driven an Aston Martin?”

“No, that’s not the point. I-”

Steve tried to help, “Bucky, you’re a supercar virgin, so there’s really no basis for comparison if we’re-”

_“It doesn’t fucking matter, alright?!_ I don’t care to drive a Maserati, and I don’t care to fuck a another guy.” Bucky knew he was getting at least a little bit irrationally agitated. He tried to break the tension with subversive humor, “And if the two of you were really my friends, you wouldn’t try to guilt me into doing something I just don’t fucking want to do, like drive a Maserati just to see if I like it.”

This brought a smile out of Sam. “Hey, we’re only kidding. Don’t get upset.”

Bucky simmered. “I’m not upset.”

“You know,” Sam was having fun with _him_ now, his interest in making Steve uneasy now thoroughly lost, “most homophobes are actually repressed homosexuals.”

“I’m not a homophobe,” Bucky said emphatically. His two friends met him with somewhat skeptical stares, and after an awkward silence he reiterated, “I’m not!” Sam pursed his lips as if he was trying to suppress a smirk, and Steve sighed, looking away from him with disappointment. “I’m just mad at _that_ fucker,” Bucky pointed to Steve, “because he’s beating me.” _That’s believable, right?_

The ribbing came to a natural stop, and they all managed to finish out the rest of the game on friendly terms. Sam graciously lost to Nat; and to no one’s surprise, Bucky lost to Steve. Congratulations and consolations were given from one to another, and they sent a picture to Nat on Facebook with the three of them angrily pouting, and a warning: “Way to go… but you’re going down!”

Sam said his goodbyes, and he left after giving each of them a hug and a pat on the back. Bucky and Steve then returned to the couch and began watching the post-game commentary. Knowing that he and Steve were both getting up early the next morning to leave for winter break, Bucky found himself dreading being away from Steve for three weeks. Somehow, he missed him already. And so, instead of listening to the panel of NFL experts drone on about this and that, Bucky sipped at his drink and watched Steve as he fiddled around on his laptop.

“Whose defense should I set against Nat? Seattle or New England?” Upon finishing the question, Steve looked up to him. 

“Um,” Bucky absent-mindedly scooted closer to Steve to get a look at the screen, “who are they playing?” 

Steve pointed to each of them, “The Seahawks are up against the Saints, and the Patriots play the Bengals.”

“Well,” Bucky observed, “Seattle’s projected lower, but the Saints have already clinched a playoff berth; so Brees won’t be throwing like his career depends on it. They may even bench him early just to keep him healthy for playoffs.” He then went on to offer his advice on the rest of Steve’s line-up, and when they finished with Steve’s team they moved to Bucky’s for his third-place match against Sam. 

Bucky wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but at some point Steve had moved the laptop so that it was resting on one of his legs and one of Bucky’s - and Steve was leaning into Bucky, their hands frequently brushing as they pointed to one stat or another on the screen. 

“You really think Julio Jones is gonna play through his injury?” Bucky asked, turning his head and finding himself looking into Steve’s eyes, their faces inches apart. 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, “of course.” He then pointed back at the screen, “He’s had two weeks to recover, and even if the Falcons win this next game, they’re banking on sliding into playoffs as a wildcard. They need the Broncos to lose against Detroit, but it won’t even matter if they don’t win their game against Arizona.”

“Fuck.” Bucky ran both of his hands through his hair, unable to make a sober decision given his current level of insobriety, and let them fall to his sides. He sighed and turned again to Steve for guidance, asking, “Is the payoff really worth the risk?”

Steve, however, was distracted. He was looking down at Bucky’s left hand… which happened to be resting on Steve’s leg. 

Bucky immediately withdrew it, feeling himself blush as he wracked his brain for a sensible answer, _How in the ever living fuck did that happen?_ “Sorry,” he shook his head and looked off to the side, “I, uh, I guess- that’s just, um, I-”

“No! It’s fine, dude.” Steve broke into a grin, “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, if Kyle was here it might be a problem, but…”

_But?_ Bucky wondered. 

Steve explained, “He doesn’t know you like I do.”

“What?” He didn’t mean to sound so bitter, “That I’m a homophobe?”

“You’re not a homophobe.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Sam was just kidding. He-”

“Does Kyle think I want you?” Bucky wasn’t exactly sure where that question came from.

“No! Why would he think that?” Steve gave a forced chuckle. “He knows you’re not gay.”

“Then why would it matter if Kyle was here?”

Suddenly angry, Steve nearly slammed his laptop shut as he closed it and stood. “Because it wouldn’t be appropriate. _Obviously.”_

Bucky cocked his head. “But you don’t mind, though. It’s fine as long as he’s not around.”

“What’s your point, Bucky?” Steve scoffed, “Do you want to cuddle?”

He didn’t have a point. “Would it bother you if I did?” Bucky wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked the question. He also wasn’t entirely sure how it was so honest. Some part of him _did_ want to cuddle with Steve - albeit in a totally straight, platonic, no-homo sort of way. 

Steve stared at him as if utterly confounded. “You’re fucking drunk, dude. Just go to sleep. We’ve both got to get up early.”

“Why haven’t I ever been invited over to Sam’s?” Yet again, a question escaped Bucky’s lips. _A jealous question,_ his heart posited. _No, a legitimate one,_ his brain shot back.

Steve had started to make his way to his door, but stopped. “Bucky…”

“Never mind.” He shook his head, stood up, and made his way to his room. “Night, Steve. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“After the way you reacted to Frank… Look, Kyle and I have been talking for a while, but he was still sorting through some stuff with his ex and, I don’t know, I just didn’t want to bring him over here until things were a little more concrete between us.” Bucky turned to look at Steve. He was frowning. “I didn’t want to make things weird between us, but I guess that happened anyway.” He shrugged. “It’s not that me and Sam didn’t want you to hang out with us, I just figured you wouldn’t want to.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, no, I get that. Sorry.”

“But the next time we hang out over there you’re more than welcome to come,” he offered.

“Thanks.” Bucky gave a weak smile and turned, entering his room and then quickly shutting the door behind him. _I’m being childish,_ he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Everything felt so wrong, and he didn’t know where to begin in order fix it. Without bothering to change out of his clothes, he flopped into his bed on his stomach and tried to not to think about anything at all - especially not…

_Steve and Kyle._ The thought came both unbeckoned and welcomed. He didn’t want to imagine the two of them together, but couldn’t stop himself either. _At least I get a few weeks away from them._ By ‘them,’ he meant Steve _and_ Kyle. Still, Bucky wasn’t looking forward to being away from Steve. He would’ve even invited him to come to Chrismukkah at the Barnes’ if he’d thought Steve would say ‘yes.’ _We could hang out with Rebecca._ His sister, the one silver lining of the weeks ahead, gave him reason to smile. If nothing else, he could enjoy his time with her. Perhaps she’d even be able to offer him some advice on what to do in his current predicament. _I bet she’ll have some smartass comment,_ he mused as he began to drift off to sleep. 

***

Bucky’s holiday vacation ended up being a little less awesome than he had hoped. While his parents compromised years ago to celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah, his dad still passively aggressively played the part of the Grinch and, yet again, it drove his mother absolutely insane. It had gotten to the point in recent years where it was actually funny instead of a headache, but Bucky found it to be a nuisance this year if only because he had so much else on his mind. 

He’d overslept the morning he was supposed to leave for home, and had woken up to a kind note from Steve wishing him a happy Chrismukkah and safe travels. Bucky immediately hated himself, wishing he’d been able to say goodbye - even if it was only for a few weeks. He’d then tried to call Steve, who didn’t answer, and Bucky hadn’t left a voicemail. However, Bucky _had_ left voicemails every single day afterward when Steve still did not answer his calls or texts. He was beginning to worry that something about their confrontation on that last night had upset Steve. 

So, he distracted himself. This was an easy task now that it was finals night. Bucky was almost certainly going to lose to Sam, meaning he would finish in fourth place for a second consecutive year, but Steve and Nat’s game was still too close to call this early in the evening. He’d tried to call Steve in order to wish him luck; again, no answer. 

“Why so sullen?” Rebecca startled him, practically landing in his lap. “Losing in fantasy football again?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “And some other stuff.”

“Like what?” she happily offered him the chance to vent. 

“Nothing,” he brushed it off, not really feeling up to the conversation. “Just stuff.”

“Oh, okay.” She moved to sit beside him on the couch and produced a long, brown cigar-like object from her Yale hoodie. “But if you want some cheering up, I thought maybe we could…” She twiddled it in her fingers. “You know, just for old time’s sake?”

He whispered as he instinctively looked about the living room for any sign of their parents, “Rebecca! I thought we agreed to quit!” 

“I did!” she assured him. “But one of my friends gave it to me for Christmas. At first I said no, but then I thought you might want to…” she trailed off. 

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at her. 

“I’ll just flush it.” She shrugged, a sly grin on her face as she started to get up. 

“No!” he tried to not to be too loud. Despite the fact that their father sometimes indulged - a fact that Rebecca and Bucky were supposed to pretend was not, indeed, a fact - their mother forbade it. “Let’s take a walk.”

‘Let’s take a walk’ was their ancient code phrase for ‘let’s go to the bridge and smoke out.’ A half mile trek through the woods near their house, the bridge was the last remaining relic of an abandoned railroad. It had once crossed a stream, but time had taken its toll and it now only extended out to the first support column. It was their spot. Throughout Bucky’s last two years of high school, he and his sister would occasionally set aside their quarrelsome differences, smoke out, and talk about whatever it was they needed to get off their chests. 

They bundled up, and the trip out to the bridge quickly passed as they chatted about one thing or another. The sky was clear, and they didn’t have any trouble finding their way through the trees and snow. When they finally reached the bridge, they cleared the last railroad tie and sat with their feet dangling over the edge. The frozen stream glistened in the moonlight beneath them, and his sister lit the blunt and then passed it to him as she informed him of her most recent trouble. Rebecca had been accepted to Yale, but her not-boyfriend wanted her to go to the state college at which they’d both been accepted.

“I just, I mean, I don’t want to be away from him either, but it’s fucking _Yale,_ you know?” She pulled a hit from the blunt, stifled a cough, and then passed it back to Bucky as she blew out a thick stream of smoke. “And who knows, like, we’re both going to meet new people even if we go to the same school. I like him and all, and I get where he’s coming from, but it’s not like we’re married.”

“No, you’re totally right.” Bucky pulled on the blunt and tried not to cough.

“I can’t throw away an opportunity like this just because he’s ready to settle down. We’re not even officially dating.”

Exhaling, Bucky handed it back to her. “Is he pressuring you a lot? Rebecca, I will _gladly_ kick his ass if-”

“No, no.” She giggled. “He’s actually been really sweet about it, and that’s what makes it so hard. Like, he gets that it’s not in my best interests to stick around, but he still wants me to stay, and… that means something.” She sighed. “Maybe it shouldn’t, but it does.”

“I get it.” Bucky nodded as she took a puff. “Has he thought about applying to a school near New Haven?”

“Yeah, but he wants to commute from home. Family is really important to him.” Rebecca took the blunt as Bucky passed it back to her. “Anyway. What’s got you down in the dumps? Other than being a loser,” she chided. 

“It’s…” Bucky sighed. “It’s my roommate, Steve.”

“The hot one?” Rebecca had met Steve when they moved into their dorm earlier that fall. She leaned forward. “Are you two fighting or something?”

“No, but… well…” Bucky recounted to her all that had happened; Steve coming out, Steve bringing home Frank, Bucky being uncomfortable with it, and finally the most recent drama with Kyle. She listened quietly the entire time, nodding here and there as they finished off the blunt and then tossed the butt to the ice below. “So I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I mean,” she wore a nearly apologetic smile, “Bucky, I can understand how you think you’re being homophobic, but… have you ever considered that it might be jealousy?”

He groaned. “Steve said that too, that I’m jealous he’s getting laid and I’m not, and-”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Rebecca shook her head. “Do you think you might be jealous that he’s with someone other than you?”

Bucky could only stare at her. It was like she was speaking a foreign language. 

“It’s just, from what you’ve told me what with you being okay with it at first, and then the flirting and all, but it didn’t really become an issue until he started bringing guys over. Especially with his current boyfriend,” hearing the word crushed him, “you said that he’s nice and likable, but you still can’t stand him. To me, that doesn’t really come across as homophobic. It seems more like you’re in love with Steve.” Rebecca shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and clearing her throat. “Or maybe not _love,_ but… kind of like you’ve got a crush on him, and you just immediately hate anyone that’s competition.”

_Love._ Maybe it was just the pot, but Bucky felt warm and fuzzy at the thought. It was new and exciting and frightening, and he failed to comprehend how it had never crossed his mind before. 

“Bucky?” Rebecca nudged him with her elbow. “You okay? I could be wrong, it’s not like I know every little detail of your friendship.”

“No, I,” he searched for the words, “I think you might be right.” He found it difficult to believe, but it made so much sense. 

She gloated at his admission of her right-ness, and then complained of the cold. They headed back home, chatting again as they made their way, but Bucky couldn’t think of anything other than Steve and the idea that he wanted something more than his friendship. He missed Steve dearly, and as he entertained the thought of being near him, next to him, holding him and cuddling, and perhaps even kissing him as odd as it still seemed, worry struck him. 

_But Steve’s with Kyle. Should I tell him how I feel? Would it do any good? He probably doesn’t even feel the same way. Hell, he can’t even admit that he thinks I’m cute… most likely because he_ doesn’t _think I’m cute and he just wants to spare my feelings. I should tell him anyway._ He changed his mind. _No, I definitely shouldn’t tell him. That would just make things even weirder between us._

When they arrived at their house, Rebecca hugged him goodnight and went to bed. Bucky did the same, pulling up the fantasy scores on his phone after changing and nestling into his bed. While there was still Monday night’s game left to play, it looked like Nat had beaten Steve. The one wide receiver he had left to play the next day would need to put up nearly forty points in order for him to defeat her - not impossible, but highly improbable. Bucky briefly considered trying to call Steve again when his phone vibrated. 

Steve was calling. 

Bucky’s heart nearly leapt from his chest. Excitedly, he answered, “Hello?”

“Hey!” came Steve’s warm voice. “S-sorry I haven’t returned your calls, I’ve just been re-” a commotion in the background drowned him out and Bucky could hear rustling and then the slam of a door, “Sorry. Again.” He laughed like an idiot and slurred his words, “I’ve just been really busy.”

“That’s fine, man!” Bucky was just glad to hear from him. “Are you… are you drunk dialing me?”

“...Yeah.” Steve laughed again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Bucky practically melted. “So is everything going alright? Are you having a merry Christmas?”

“Pretty much. Other than missing you, that is.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell Steve that he’d missed him so much more than he ever thought possible, that he wasn’t a homophobe and was just a big dumb jerk who didn’t understand, even still, how he really felt about him. He wanted to tell Steve that he loved him, something he’d said to him many times before, but he needed Steve to know that it wasn’t just a “bro” thing; that very likely, Bucky was head over heels for Steve. 

A knock on Steve’s end paused his indecision. “Yeah?” Steve answered. “I’m fine, Kyle. I’ll be out in a minute!”

“Oh, is,” Bucky cleared his throat, “is Kyle there?”

“Yeah, he surprised me! When my mom told me someone was here to see me, I dunno, I thought it was you for some reason.” Steve coughed. “Anyway, we ended up going to this party and… I just had to call you.”

“Sure, yeah. Thanks.” Trying to hide his disappointment, Bucky diverted the conversation. “Sorry about your loss to Nat.”

Steve chuckled. “She earned it. I don’t think anyone does as much research as she does. Are you okay? You’re not distraught over losing to Sam?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Bucky and Sam had texted earlier, and Sam had been kind enough not to rub it in his face. “There’s always next year.”

“That’s true,” Steve agreed. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. I hope you have a merry Chrismukkah, Bucky.”

“Yeah, you too. Merry Christmas.” He swallowed. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“We’ll see about that. Goodnight, Bucky!”

“Goodnight, Steve.” He paused. “I love-” The beep in his ear signaled that Steve had hung up. 

It was probably for the best. Steve was with Kyle, and he was happy. Bucky had no right to mess that up. He plugged his phone into his charger and rolled over, trying not to think about Kyle and Steve having a good time together at a party. Instead, he remembered all of the times he and Steve had shared laughs and stories, and looked forward to the new semester with his roommate. If he couldn’t be Steve’s boyfriend, he could still be a good friend. With that, he fell asleep imagining what it would feel like to press his lips to his friend’s.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write this knowing that many of my readers probably don't have an in-depth understanding of how American football works, never mind fantasy football. So, while they do talk about this player or that team, none of those details are crucial to the story for any other reason than authenticity. You shouldn't need to know anything about American football to enjoy this, and I hope it reads that way. :)


End file.
